


Pomme d'Ambre

by epkitty



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies), Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl (2003)
Genre: Christmas, First Time, M/M, Multi, Seduction, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-28
Updated: 2011-04-27
Packaged: 2017-10-18 18:18:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/191824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epkitty/pseuds/epkitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With my sledgehammer of juxtaposition, I tell the story of how much it sucks to be Norrington until two Lieutenants plan a seduction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> In which I pretend to know what it was like to live in Port Royal as a naval officer. And pretend to know French.

On the twenty-fourth of December as dusk settled, Fort Charles seemed abandoned. Theodore Groves scanned the hallways and courtyards he briskly traveled, but there wasn’t a glimmer of life. He wearily pulled at the knotted silk at his neck, loosening the cravat and breathing a sigh of relief. He counted the moments to the morrow’s parties, but his steps faltered as he passed Commodore Norrington’s office and noticed the light flickering round the door firmly closed to the elements. But there was no evil weather for the season, only a lessening of heat as night fell.

He debated with himself a moment, found a loophole in the moral compass that never quite pointed north to begin with, and eased the door open a crack without knocking. With neither wind nor sun to betray his trespass, the man beyond took no notice of his unwelcome visitor.

Norrington’s eyes were closed and pain lined the normally composed face. He tipped his head back and raised a hand to dig into the muscles of his neck. He sighed – a broken sound – and dropped both hand and head, looking for all the world like a rag doll emptied of its stuffing. With a fortifying breath, Norrington broke the tableau, pulling forward the stump of the remaining candle and bowing his wigged head over his desk once more.

Groves shut the door without a sound and quickened his pace.

= = = = =

“Andrew,” he shouted at his roommate in the Fort’s boarding house, “wake up!” He threw pillows at the immobile figure between bouts of stripping out of his uniform, which also served as projectiles toward the sleeper. “Get up! You lout!”

Andrew sent a shoe back across the room and pulled a pillow over his head. _“Je suis fatigué.”_ Recognition set in and he corrected himself. “Go ‘way.” He rolled over and the pillow went with him. “It’s Christmas,” the muffled whine complained, “have a heart.”

“I do!” the naked Groves protested, striding forward to rip away the defense. The pillow flew back to its proper bed and Gillette squinted at him through sleep-glazed eyes. Theodore’s voice was suddenly infused with rare sobriety. “It’s James.”   
“Oh,” Andrew Gillette said, slowly sitting up. “…would you cover yourself?”

“Making you nervous?” Theodore flirted, shimmying his hips before he pulled on his civilian clothes. “But truly, that man is so tense he’s going to break his own back for nerves. We need to do something.”

“Uh…” Gillette had never been eloquent upon waking. “I have a bottle somewhere…”

Groves shook his head. “Get dressed, Andrew. We have to talk.”

“We have to get dressed to talk?” Gillette asked before his mental filter caught the sentence.

Groves smirked, Gillette blushed, and silence fell.

“I’m taking you to the _Bowsprit_. C’mon, then.”

Gillette allowed a generous yawn before eventually complying.

= = = = =

Several mugs of something not readily identifiable loosened tongues and limbs enough to be comfortable in the shadows of the pub. Groves’s hand found its way to Gillette’s velvet-clad thigh and he leaned precariously over to whisper his drunken ramblings. “I wish you’d let me touch you, Andrew; you’re never more handsome than when you blush at my words and smile when you think I’m not looking…”

“Please,” Gillette whined, removing the offensive hand, “we are in public, Groves!”

“No one cares,” Theodore cajoled, but ceased his devious attentions. “Ah, you’re right of course… a hanging offense,” he muttered the last into his glass-bottomed tankard. “Bloody stupid world,” he declared and signaled the barmaid for two more.

 _Bowsprit_ was a notoriously dark place; the tallow candles and rushlights guttered their blue smoke into the atmosphere that milled with tobacco and incense and the fetid air from the kitchens. The gruel-like salmagundi they served was worse than the terracotta jars of rumbullion, a hellish conglomerate of rum, wine, tea, limejuice, sugar, and spices.

It was a good place to get drunk if you didn’t mind a headache in the morning, for the rumbullion was cheap and strong and the company always varied.

Here in the shadowy corners of the _Bowsprit_ , Theodore Groves and Andrew Gillette had first rambled their drunken confessions together and fumbled beneath the table. Near a year had come and gone, and both were too fearful of the world they lived in, and this became the only place where truth bled through, muddled and half-forgotten though it would be the next day.

“You said you wanted to talk,” Andrew reminded him, absently pushing a tangle of auburn hair from his brow. “So are you going to drink yourself into a stupor while manhandling me or are we going to talk?”

“Both, if I have any say about it,” Groves told him with a wink, sneaking another stroke to the thigh that rested alongside his own.

With a swish of skirts, two mugs clanked down upon the table and Groves laughed his thanks, slinging an arm about the waist of the wench who delivered them and pulling her onto his lap. “Esmé, you’re a doll,” he told her, smacking a kiss on her cheek and slipping a coin into her cleavage before letting her go with a pat to the ample bottom.

She tittered a laugh and sauntered back through the haze of the tavern, black hair swaying.

Groves grinned sideways at his companion. “Jealous?”

A fortifying gulp preceded Gillette’s, “Should I be?” He could not lift his gaze from the tabletop. Groves’s hand returned to a place out of sight and Gillette gritted out, “You’re a right tease, you know that, Theodore?”

“Oh aye,” Groves grinned. But then his expression fell and he stared at the misty liquid in his cup. “I am a right git sometimes.”

Steeling himself, Gillette looked up at him. “So, is this it finally? Why’ve you dragged me out here on Christmas Eve?”

Theodore Groves folded his hands on the table and glared down his drink. “I was walking back from my post today and I saw a light at Norrington’s office door. I am horrible… I opened the door, just a crack you understand, and peered in… The look of him, Andrew! If a man could die of misery, he’d be six feet under. There was pain in every line of his face, grief pulling at his shoulders and such sorrow in his eyes…”

“You’ve a tongue for poetry when you’re drunk,” Gillette said, “and right, to boot. James bloody Norrington… he hides it well, but not from those who know him.”

“We need to help, Andrew.” 

“How?” Gillette asked, swigging from his tankard. “The man won’t let anything underneath his skin, not after that mess with Mrs. Turner and the Sparrow character. He’s married to his work, and more than that, too. He doesn’t define his job anymore; he lets it define him. If there was ever a time to reach him, it’s passed.”

Groves slowly wagged his dark head from side to side, scraping his bottom lip with the nail of his thumb. “He is far gone. We need to snap him out of this funk.”

“How?”

“Shock him so bad he can’t sink under again.”

“How?” Gillette pressed again.

Unsure eyes, pale and testing, peered up from under long lashes. “We could seduce him.”

Gillette’s eyes widened comically and he nearly dropped his mug. _“Tu déconnes ou quoi!?”_ He stammered a moment and cried, “You’re mad!”

“Not at all. Do you know what he’ll be doing tomorrow? He’ll wake up, dress up, visit the Governor because it’s expected, visit the Turners because he feels obliged, go to church because he has to, inspect the troops because he’s obsessive, attend the party because he’s invited, propose a toast because it’s appropriate, and then go home, where he’ll sit in his study in his drafty old townhouse and do paperwork until he’s too exhausted to do anything but sleep.” Groves met Gillette’s disbelieving stare with a gaze emboldened by a surety he finally knew. “And who knows what then? Maybe he’ll dream of hell, the one he thinks awaits him or the one he’s already made for himself. And the next day and the day after that… it will be the same until he really does work himself to death, maybe at the hands of an enemy he no longer has the passion to fight.”

Gillette saw his looks, heard his words, and then said, “You’re right. _Mon Dieu!_ You’re right. We have to seduce him.”

= = = = =

They supported one another on the way back to the Fort, loose and happy drunks the both of them, though each suffered a dose of melancholy to curb the otherwise idyllic contentment.

The cool night breeze sobered them both so that by the time they reached their shared officers’ quarters, they were quiet and morose, regretting their cups and second-guessing what an hour before had seemed incontrovertible. They peeled off their clothes and sponge-bathed with the cool water in the waiting basin, scrubbing the rough cloth over pale skin and washing the foul taste from their mouths.

“I’ve never been with a man,” Gillette confessed, clinging to the remnants of his intoxication and breaking the long silence between them.

“Well,” Groves wondered, drying himself with a ratty old towel, “we could play it by ear tomorrow…” he tossed the towel aside, “or I could rectify the oversight tonight.”

“Rectify the oversight?” Gillette echoed, amused by the turn of phrase.

Groves swooped in without warning to kiss him. Their mouths crashed together, teeth clicked, noses bumped. Groves pulled back and smiled; he leaned forward, pressing naked skin together. Only the meager starlight from the window showed him Gillette’s baffled expression. Theodore shook his head and his smile softened. “You’re a treasure, Andrew,” he said, caressing the blushing, freckled face. “Won’t you finally let me love you?”

“ _Je ne_ … I don’t know; I…”

“You think too much.” Finally, the smile melted away, and a rare sadness showed through Theodore’s pale eyes. “I wish we could be happy.”

A muscle ticked in Andrew’s jaw and he squeezed his eyes closed. After steadying his breath, he looked to his friend with a courage usually reserved for battle and promised, “We could be happy tonight.” He took Theodore’s hand and pulled him toward the nearest bed. _“Quelquefois, je pense que… je t’aime,”_ he wondered, and not for the first time.

“Why do you do that?” Theodore asked with a sad little smile, sitting beside him.

 _“Quoi?”_

“Speak French, when you don’t want me to know what you’re saying.”

“It’s so much easier,” Andrew confessed, exploring stretches of pale skin and bunched muscles with the anxious fingers of an adolescent. “Though you’re right, I shouldn’t say anything at all, should I, if I’m not brave enough to be heard?”

“Not necessarily,” Theodore allowed, setting off on an exploration of Andrew’s freckled skin. “I like it. It’s romantic.” He laughed then and leaned in for a kiss. “It’s very sexy,” he spoke against Andrew’s lips before covering them.

“Ah, _oui_?” Gillette asked.

 _“Très oui,”_ Theodore agreed with a laugh. Then he lay back on the bed and pulled Andrew close alongside him. “This is easy, you see? First, we touch.” His strong, eager hands sought out pale skin flushed hot and ready. “We’ll find all those secret places,” he promised, voice turning husky as he pinched a nipple, which elicited a shocked gasp. “…Places that make us sigh and squirm. How about here?” he asked, kissing just under Gillette’s jaw. “I think your neck is very sensitive; is it, Andrew?”

“Y-yes…”

“Ah.” Theodore smiled and slowed his teasing fingers.

Andrew’s hands rested safe near Groves’s waist, but finally they moved in curious, halting circles wider and wider until one reached around to explore Theodore’s backside and the other a muscled chest. “ _Tu es joli, mon_ Teddy. I love touching you.”

“As do I,” Theodore sighed his bliss. “And then,” he instructed, “we kiss.”

“We’ve done that already,” Gillette pointed out.

“Are you complaining?”

“No, Teddy.”

“I like that.”

“What? Me not complaining?”

Theodore laughed. He was always the sort of man who was ready with a friendly laugh, but this one was pure and deep. “That’s not what I meant, but it would be nice for a change… I meant your calling me Teddy.” In a rare moment that spoke of Theodore’s true nature, an expression of uncertainty clouded his features.

Quickly finding the rhythm of this heretofore-unknown interaction, Andrew decorated the shy face before him with little kisses, up one side and down the other until a real smile was drawn forth.

“This is so incredibly dangerous,” Groves whispered, his smile fading again.

“This is so incredibly worth it,” Andrew promised, carefully drawing upon the strength within. “And after touching and kissing, what comes next, Teddy? Show me.”

Groves ducked his head into the curve of neck and shoulder, breathing in the scent of the man before kissing the heaving chest. He gently rolled Gillette to his back and Groves slid over him, planting open-mouthed kisses in a path down flat sternum to heaving belly. He handled Andrew’s cock with firm precision, stroking it slowly before applying his tongue to the crown and plunging his mouth down.

Gillette barely stifled his shriek of surprise and ecstasy, his fingers creasing the sheets, his hips bucking.

Theodore smiled and lifted away, coasting back up the trembling body. “Don’t get too excited now,” he said. “There’s more to come.” He reached for the little lantern on Gillette’s nearby desk and carefully detached the glass pot of oil.

Andrew tried to breathe and watched each of Theodore’s movements in wonder. “What’s that for?”

Groves kissed him on the nose and smiled. “You’re the sweetest gift god’s ever given me,” was what he said, and kissed the pert nose again. In good humor once more, he said, “Next, you fuck me in the ass, Andrew.”

“Oh, my god.”

“Say it in French.”

 _“Mon Dieu!”_

Theodore laughed and confessed, “By Jove, that shouldn’t boil my blood the way it does.” Then he held up the oil and said, “This is to ease the way. I’ll start, unless you want a crack at it.” He dribbled the coarse oil onto his hand and set the jar upon Gillette’s torso with an affectionate pat. In a feat of athletic dexterity, Theodore pivoted about on one knee so that he was kneeling away from Andrew, giving him a good view of the erotic scene before him.

Gillette could only lay still and watch. One of Theodore’s hands was braced against the rough stone wall as he bent forward, exposing his ass with his knees spread wide. His pale form seemed a ghostly magic in the moonlight and Andrew caught his breath at the marvelous sight. Sweaty and curled, dark hair stuck to Theodore’s neck in enticing hanks while a fine sheen over pale flesh caught the white light in blocks from the leaded windows. The shadowed bars drifted over the body whenever the man moved and Andrew was transfixed.

As he reached back with glistening fingers, Theodore glanced over his sinewy shoulder to be sure he held his audience’s attention. But there was no need for concern: Andrew was spellbound. His breaths came quick and shallow, his dark eyes stared wide and unblinking.

One finger breached his own body, shallow and slow at first, but then he curved further to the side and slithered two fingers up within. “This,” he huffed out, “helps to alleviate the pain.”

“Pain?”

“Don’t worry,” Theodore soothed. “It’s been a while for me but…” he twisted his fingers and stretched the opening further, “it’ll only burn a little, I imagine.” He finally withdrew his hand and wiped it on a towel that had landed on the footboard. “Next time, you can do the honors, eh?”

“Or we could do it the other way round completely,” Andrew readily offered, hardly knowing what he was in for.

“You are a treasure,” Theodore quietly praised as he faced his friend once more and crawled forward to straddle strong thighs. “Now, where’s that oil? Ah, yes…” He kept up a running commentary as he took the little glass pot and poured a small pool of it on the pale and lightly furred abdomen before him. He ran his hands through the slick, gooey stuff, coating his fingers before wrapping both hands around Andrew’s cock, thick and hard and already weeping. “You won’t last long,” he said. “That’s all right.”

Groves inched forward until his thighs embraced Andrew’s chest and the slick cock bumped the crease of his buttocks.

“Now,” Theodore teased with a slightly puzzled expression, “what comes next again?”

Andrew barely found breath for his words, so tight were his chest and throat. _“Je vais te baiser.”_

Theodore grinned, wide and happy. “I don’t know what that means, but I think I got the gist of it.” He raised himself and reached behind to align their bodies. Then he sank persistently down, grimacing against the blunt entry, until the head was lodged firmly inside him.

Andrew quaked and gasped. His strong fingers bruised dense thighs in his struggle not to cry out.

One of Theodore’s hands fluttered down to press flat on Gillette’s chest as a brace. The other found the wall with the same purpose. “If only you let me,” he vowed, “I’d do this every night.” He sank down a bit at a time, the oil helping, the violation still stinging. “Each night would be so precious to me, Andrew, as precious as each of your smiles. Oh!” He finally settled himself, his thighs quivering like a spent horse. “Maybe I’m just a romantic, but I dream of it so often… Kissing you, touching you… Last night, when you were late coming home,” he confessed as he slowly rose and then settled again, “I stroked myself so hard and thought of you tying me to the bed so I couldn’t move, and fucking me so long I ached just to cum.”

Andrew mewled and his hands slid to grasp Theodore’s tormenting hips, to hold them still as he thrust, easing up into tight heat, away, and then in again, in that same ancient rhythm found every moment in the punishing waves that broke endlessly on Caribbean shores. “Teddy, oh!”

Theodore caught his breath and smiled. He pried off Andrew’s hands and kneeled up until he lifted away completely.

Gillette groaned at the loss and could hardly form a question before Groves was directing him again. “Budge up there, Andrew.” Theodore kneeled on hands and knees on the mattress. “Come and bugger me proper, my French lover.”

Driven by emotions and needs he couldn’t have found words to define, Andrew gained his knees in seconds and reverently bent over the body offered to him. He kissed a sharp shoulder blade, a defined spine, the dip of the lower back. He kissed the skin so pale in the moonlight. _“Et maintenant,”_ he said, _“je jamais serai ne regret. Jamais.”_ He covered the back before him like a blanket as he calmly aligned their bodies and they slid together once more. _“Nom de Dieu de bordel de merde!”_ he swore at the beauty of it.

Andrew grabbed those hips tight, and quickly taught himself the tender viciousness with which one can love another.

Arching and clawing the sheets, Groves didn’t object, and he rammed himself backwards to meet every assault.

Sweat dripped from the moonlit bodies as moans and grunts dripped from their lips. No beast moved more artfully than they; no sight on earth could be more striking.

One of Andrew’s crafty hands slid a dangerous path around to Theodore’s belly, up to tease a nipple, and then down to grasp the straining erection that bobbed free in the air.

Theodore cried out, only invigorating Andrew to thrust all the harder until the passion coalesced into an unexpected deluge that could not be held back. He bucked and shivered as he spent himself in tight heat. His hand never stopped, and Theodore followed shortly after, spilling his seed to the sheets as he howled his thanks.

Hands petted and caressed. The men clung together as they slithered from the disheveled bed to the other and curled up there, recovering their breath and composure, smiles gracing features both handsome and plain.

And despite their blissful and lethargic fatigue, they still did not sleep, but whispered together long into what remained of the night. Until they had a plan. Ruthless. Exact.

Perfect.


	2. Two

On the twenty-fifth of December, James Norrington awoke to the sight of a drab silver sky. He found that he liked for the light to wake him in the mornings, so the curtains were always drawn when he was at home. His muscles – even his joints – ached as he rolled from bed, and he could have sworn he was too young for such pains. His feet found the slippers placed at the side of his bed. His arms found the dull white dressing gown hanging on the bedpost. He glanced out the window to evaluate the sight of the shore and the fort. With nothing amiss, he opened his bedroom door.

That was when he remembered it was Christmas. His man stood there with the tea service on a silver tray, as he had for the past nine years at precisely five-thirty in the morning. But he also carried a basket. With a jaunty red bow affixed to the handle.

“Nelson. What is that?”

“I believe it is your first Christmas present, sir.” The stolid man with steel gray hair and steel gray uniform brushed by his master with little steps to set the tray upon the ready table where Norrington customarily took his tea. The basket was set upon the dressing table beside the wig on its stand, for lack of any other flat surface in the austere room.

Norrington watched the aberration in his morning routine with shock. “From whom?”

“From Lieutenants Gillette and Groves. They bid you a Happy Christmas, sir, and await you in the drawing room.”

“The drawing room? _My_ drawing room?”

“That _is_ the drawing room to which I was referring, _yes_ sir.” While Nelson’s dry sarcasm was always in evidence, Norrington never took offense, and both were content in their roles in the townhouse.

Norrington regarded the basket and then his servant. “I’ll be down in forty minutes, as usual.”

“Very good sir. Should I set out two more places for breakfast?”

“Oh, yes, quite. Good idea, Nelson.”

“Sir,” he acknowledged with a tiny bow before retreating from the small bedroom. Two young men with skin black as night came into the room then, toting four buckets of water, two hot and two cold, which were poured into the small copper basin in the corner, with a bit of hot water poured into the ceramic pitcher beside it and also in the small standing wash basin by the door. As they performed their daily duties, Norrington sat at the little table and sucked down two cups of tea, each with generous helpings of sugar.

After they left, Norrington stripped himself to nothing and squatted in the tub. There was almost enough room to sit. His knees protested the position every morning, and just like every other morning, Norrington ignored the complaint. He bathed briskly with a rough cloth and imported soap until his skin was rubbed pink. Then he knelt naked on the hard wood floor and bent over the basin, washing the waving brown hair that hung almost to his shoulders. The pitcher of warm water set to one side he dumped over his head to wash away the last of the suds.

A towel hung upon a rod on the wall in the corner that shared space with the basin. Norrington wrapped it round his head and squeezed and squeezed until his hair was only damp. Then he briskly rubbed himself down, chasing away the chill wetness of the bath.

Even as a child, Norrington had shunned any assistance in dressing, stating emphatically to his mother that a man who could not dress himself could not possibly hope to accomplish much in the world. That was before he was acquainted with the frippery of military affluence. Sometimes he felt like a knight of old hopelessly attempting to don a suit of armor without a page to attend him.

Away from the window behind a plain white standing screen, his uniform was hung, folded, and laid out in its many pieces. First, he slung on the white silk shirt that hung low about him and fastidiously buttoned the frilled cuffs. Then he pulled on white cotton drawers and tied the drawstring and buttoned the flap after tucking in the silk shirt. Pristine white breeches followed, buttoned into proper place just below the waist. Then he rolled on the thick white hose that came up over his knees. He buttoned the breeches at the knees to hold up the hose. He slipped on the shiny black shoes and adjusted the gold buckles on their tongues. He tied on the white cravat with barely a thought to the knot. Then he sat at his dressing table and twisted his hair up into place with pins and pomade and placed the neatly coifed white wig overtop and pinned it in place. The long brocade waistcoat came next. His belt wrapped round his waist and snapped together with a gold buckle. He examined both sword and pistol before they were set to grace his person. He pulled on the blue brocade coat after a cursory examination that buttons and braid were complete and tightly affixed. Last, he perched the three-cornered black hat trimmed with white feathers atop his wigged head.

He had never bought into the powders and perfumes popular with the bloated and self-satisfied officers fresh from the Old World. He only dabbed an ointment on his lips to protect from the wind and washed his hands a final time in the compact, standing basin by the door.

All the time, the basket stood near, a tantalizing scent spilling forth. Norrington could no longer ignore the gift and he removed the plaid napkin covering, revealing a half-bushel of small, sweet oranges. Caught off guard, he froze a moment, but then plunged a hand in to grasp one. He closed his eyes and held it to his nose for long moments, inhaling.

He frowned and intended to return it to the basket, but in the end, he tucked it into a pocket, with barely a bulge to betray him.

He left not by way of the hall but through the sliding door to his study, where he checked a new stack of papers. He signed what was pressing and passed these to the boy that waited in the hallway. “The first to the Governor, the others to Captain Rooney at the Fort. Nelson will pay you at the door.”

The boy, who’d been receiving just such duties for years from this man, pulled a quick, inelegant bow and dashed off down the hallway, in a hurry to be done with his duties before the Christmas dinner was laid out on his table at home.

Norrington descended the narrow steps and at ten after six precisely, he set foot on the first floor. His black shoes clicked on the white tiles of the small reception room and then thwacked on the dark wood of the drawing room.

“Commodore!” Groves said with a grin.

“Commodore Norrington!” Gillette said, standing up.

“Happy Christmas!” they chorused.

Norrington halted abruptly at the edge of the old rug that took up most of the fair-sized room. “Yes… Happy Christmas, gentlemen. I thank you for your thoughtful gift. Won’t you join me for breakfast?”

“Be delighted!”

“Very kind…”

= = = = =

Most mornings were quiet. The only newspaper printed in Jamaica would be waiting beside the single place-setting at the small table in the moderately-sized and minimally decorated dining room. If there were any papers from England come over on a new ship, he might get month-old news.

On Christmas morning, three settings seemed to crowd the table, and his guests fought over the single copy of the _Port Royal Gazette_ like boys over a new toy.

The clinking of a single set of silverware was refined and lonely. With Groves and Gillette added to the scenery, it was a veritable cacophony of clinks, clanks, and chimes.

And the usual emptiness of breakfast was filled with conversation and laughter.

When he first sat down to eat, he felt a stranger in his own home.

By the time the plates were cleared, he was smiling.

When Norrington realized this, the expression drained away, and his guests pretended not to notice.

“So, where are you off to this fine Christmas morning, Norrington?” Gillette asked, dropping the title in the more personal setting.

Norrington considered his watch and said, “My first order of business today is to pay my respects to the Governor.”

“Why that sounds just grand,” Gillette marveled. “Doesn’t it, Groves? Doesn’t that sound just grand?”

“Aye,” Theodore agreed sardonically, “grand.”

Norrington eyed both of them critically. “Hm. Yes, and speaking of which, it’s gone seven; I should be on my way.”

“Oh, of course!” Groves said, standing at once, carefully pushing his chair in.

“Right-o,” Gillette agreed, also standing, though with a bit more decorum, a bit less puppyish enthusiasm.

Norrington again examined his lieutenants, as though suspicious of their sanity. Eventually he attributed the oddities in behavior to the nervousness of young gentlemen in a strange setting. “Would you like to accompany me on the errand?” he offered, as a matter of courtesy, not expecting the invitation to be accepted.

“Love to!”

“Spot on!”

“Great fun!”

“Let’s go!”

= = = = =

So it was, Norrington found himself ordering a carriage instead of for his horse to be saddled. Upon the arrival of the closed black coach, he led the way down the short steps to the road. Before climbing the step into the darkness of the device, he turned and once more regarded his lieutenants. “Don’t… you two have somewhere to be?”

They exchanged conspiring looks and Groves finally confessed, “Actually sir, we were, uh, hoping to be somewhere with you today. Commodore.”

Norrington quickly turned away and climbed into the carriage, but that was surely not the way to escape the conversation.

Groves and Gillette climbed eagerly in to sit side by side, facing the Commodore with little smiles as the coach jolted merrily along. “After all,” Gillette took up the thread, “you don’t have any family here—”

“And Gillette,” Groves spoke up, “you have very little family here—”

“And you,” Gillette told Groves, “you don’t have any family at all.”

“Quite right.”

“And in any case,” Gillette went on, “we’re all men of means and men of the military. We should celebrate somehow, and together as well. Don’t you think so, Sir?”

“I hate parties and I don’t like Christmas.”

Smiles and excitement fell away from bright faces like snow from heavy clouds.

“Yet you seem unduly motivated to keep me occupied. And… I have no objection to letting you.”

= = = = =

With Norrington’s admission in the coach, Groves and Gillette knew the first steps of their plan were a success, and it was a true effort to keep their smiles to themselves.

Governor Swann was obviously pleased to see the Commodore, and also received the Lieutenants with open-handed grace, offering a glass of mulled wine to each of his guests and taking one for himself once the four men were settled in the parlor of the Governor’s mansion. “It _is_ a delight to see you this morning, Commodore, and your friends as well. It’s so good to see you…” he tried to think of a kind way of saying ‘not alone’ and ended up stumbling over, “out and about…”

“Aye,” Gillette immediately cut in with his practiced pomposity, “we called upon him early to surprise him for Christmas with a basket of fresh oranges, and intended upon a game of cards or some such amusement, for we all know he works too hard and if _we_ didn’t occupy him, his paperwork would. But when he said he was calling upon you this morning, Groves and I thought it sounded a lovely outing and insisted upon accompanying him.

“Yes,” Norrington dryly agreed, “though I am unaccustomed to my Lieutenants talking about me as though I am not present.”

At once contrite, a blush rose on Gillette’s fair cheeks and he slouched in his seat.

Groves took over with ease. “My friend hasn’t a head for wine this early in the day, I’m afraid,” he said as an aside to the Governor, who was immensely amused at the goings on in his parlor. “But we surely thank you for your generosity,” he said, lifting the delicate glass in acknowledgment. “Not every young officer has the privilege of sharing his first Christmas drink with the Governor! And the Commodore as well,” he added, lifting his glass in Norrington’s direction. “I say,” he exclaimed, “you can’t know how we look forward to the ball tonight, Governor Swann. You have made a friend of every bluecoat in the Navy by extending the invitation to all the officers!”

“I am glad to hear it,” Governor Swann said with a smile. “I’m not young anymore,” he said as though the confession was a secret, “but it gives me great delight to see so many young people happy, especially during the holidays. I’ll admit I miss the English winters, but even the Caribbean heat cannot spoil our celebrations I think.”

“No indeed,” Gillette found the nerve to speak up again. “The seas have been quiet, the ports equally so, and all society worth mixing with longs for the release. A bit of dancing, a fine dinner… nothing could be better for this Christmas, Governor, than your holiday party! I hope you’ll be passing the pomander tonight.”

“Passing the pomander?” Norrington asked.

Finding three confused looks aimed his way, Gillette smiled and relished displaying his knowledge, as usual. “Yes, from the French for _pomme d’ambre_ or apple of ambergris, the clove-studded oranges you know as fashionable trimmings have been adapted into a new tradition in America. Have you not heard? They pass one from hand to hand around the room at a party from boy to girl, each exchange including a kiss. When you pass the kissing ball, you eat one of the hundred cloves from it and the person who gets the last kiss and last clove gets a wish! Which will come true, of course.”

Norrington still looked confused, Groves looked worried, and Swann looked delighted. “How charming! What an idea! I’ll have one of the servants attend to it at once. I say, Sellers,” he said, turning to address the man standing at the door. “Did you hear that? Have them make a kissing ball for tonight. What a lark! What a grand idea!”

= = = = =

Gillette and Groves skipped down the steps from the mansion, Norrington following them at a more sedate pace.

“I hope we didn’t embarrass you, Sir,” Groves said with a bemused smile, looking over his shoulder to address his commander.

“Not excessively, Mister Groves.”

“Oh good,” Gillette piped up. “So where are we off to next?”

Norrington halted and the three men stood together just before the black carriage. “ _I_ ” he stressed the word “am going to pay a visit to the Turners.”

Groves and Gillette just looked at him.

In his greatest show of emotion of the day, Norrington sighed, rolled his eyes, shook his head and said, “You, of course, are welcome to accompany me, if the idea appeals to you.”

“Indeed it does,” Gillette agreed.

“I _was_ planning on offering them a ride to church…” Norrington hinted.

“Oh, we can ride on top,” Groves suggested at once, gesturing to the seat atop the black box. “Not a problem at all.”

“Not at all,” Gillette agreed. “Shall we, then?”

= = = = =

“Commodore!” was Elizabeth’s shouted greeting of glee and astonishment. “Misters Groves and Gillette as well, oh do come in; you are most welcome. Will! Guests!”

The three men ducked into the small home attached to the smithy, removing black hats to reveal white-wigged heads, which seemed bright in the dark, fire-lit room.

Will stepped into the front room from the back with a white bundle in his arms. “Welcome, gentleman,” he said with a smile. “Please have a seat, if you can find one…”

“Will!” Elizabeth chastised, taking the baby from his arms. “Of course there’s room. It is good of you to visit; you must be so busy today.” She sat in the rocking chair Norrington had given them upon the birth of their child and the Navy men sat in the plain, sturdy chairs for which Elizabeth had stitched covers. That left Will without a seat, but he didn’t mind and stooped to stoke the fire that crackled happily in the hearth.

“Oh James,” Elizabeth said, unable to stop smiling, “thank you so much for your gifts.”

Norrington visibly blushed but didn’t have the heart to ask her to call him anything else, and his two companions regarded him with interested looks.

Will glanced up from his place at the hearth and caught the lieutenants’ expressions. “The beautiful chair my wife sits in was a gift from the Commodore.”

They looked at the delicate carving upon the back of the chair over Elizabeth’s neatly coifed head. They hmmed and ummed their approval and Elizabeth immediately stood up and plopped the baby down in Norrington’s arms. “Hold her, won’t you, James,” she asked far past the point when Norrington could protest.

He swallowed thickly and tried to cradle the thing without crushing it.

“Oh, you’ve got to pull her closer to your chest,” Gillette advised, leaning forward to adjust blue clad arms.

“You should have taken your coat off first,” Groves suggested, despite Norrington’s inability to have done so.

He shot a dirty look at them and paled when the thing began to cry. “O-O-Okay, you’d better take it back,” he said, standing.

But Elizabeth had disappeared to collect tea from the kitchen. Taking pity on him, Will stood, ready to retrieve the child.

“Oh, may I hold her?” Gillette interjected.

“Of course,” Will answered, stepping back, watching with curious amusement as Gillette stood and threw off his coat to easily take the child into his arms. “I’ve had dozens of babies in my family over the years. Younger brothers and sisters, cousins, and now nieces and nephews. We’ve always had babies around… but not in the Fort,” he was now addressing the babe, “do we? No! No babies in the Fort… and a shame it is, too.”

Elizabeth pushed past the curtain into the main room. She set the tray upon the little table and began pouring out tea, smiling at the scene in her living room.

“Tea!” Groves exclaimed. “Thank you very much!” he praised, as though tea were the most thoughtful and precious gift she could have given.

“You’re welcome, Mr. Groves,” Elizabeth said.

Gillette retook his seat close to Theodore and asked, “Would you like a go?” as if the child were a rare amusement.

“Yes, indeed, if the lady permits…?”

“Oh yes,” Elizabeth said, handing a cup and saucer to the Commodore. “Go right ahead.”

So the babe, no longer crying, was handed over, and Groves cooed and fussed as much as was appropriate. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Jacqueline. And a Happy Christmas to you.”

The child was then back in her father’s arms as the rest took their tea. Once everyone had settled, Norrington said, “Mr. and Mrs. Turner, I would like to invite you to ride with me to church this morning in the coach I’ve ordered.”

While Will looked hesitant, Elizabeth agreed at once, “Oh that’s too kind of you; we’d love to!”

“Won’t your father—” Will began but Elizabeth hushed him at once.

“No, he’s grown absent-minded; he’ll have forgotten all about us.”

“We should send word anyway,” Will insisted.

“Of course,” Groves agreed. Being closest to the door, he set his tea down and approached the entrance. “I’ll send a man,” he offered and stepped outside to the coachman, who rode with a boy to attend the horses and baggage and who could be sent with a message to the Governor.

= = = = =

By virtue of their distinction, the Governor and his family sat in the first pew of the small church, with just enough room for Norrington and his two companions, who managed to situate themselves either side of the Commodore despite Elizabeth’s obvious machinations to gain a seat beside her former fiancé. Groves, who ended up between Norrington and Mrs. Turner, could tell that Elizabeth still felt guilty and wanted to remain a friend to the Commodore, but he could also tell that such attentions only embarrassed Norrington, who would just as soon keep a friendly distance.

Theodore felt bad for both of them, but couldn’t make out a ready way to help the situation. He could see that Will Turner and even the Governor tried to rein Elizabeth in, but there was no holding that woman back when she was determined.

Baby Jacqueline was quiet in her mother’s arms for most of the hour, and the Governor finally seemed to have embraced young Will as a son-in-law, bonding over the little child.

Norrington was disenchanted with the service, standing and sitting by rote, mouthing the words in a barely audible voice, and singing as quietly as possible. Andrew Gillette, who’d had formal training in years gone by, belted out the old Christmas tunes in a stunning baritone, while Groves sang just as loud and only slightly off-key in a charming tenor.

Norrington – who often felt out-of-place at church – found himself buffered by the two men who stood firm to either side, men who passed no judgment and who enjoyed the service with quiet appreciation.

By the time the congregation filed out into the afternoon sunlight amidst joyous calls of Happy Christmas and rollicking renditions of songs about figgy pudding, Norrington felt a strange and welcome calm that he hadn’t known in a long time. He let his lieutenants usher him out a side door, thereby avoiding the Turners and most everyone else, and down the street to where their carriage waited.

The inside was hot due to the black exterior, so Gillette opened the windows while Groves surreptitiously ensured that Norrington was comfortable with a pillow to prop him up as he leaned unconsciously against the side of the coach.

“So, where are you off to next?” Gillette wondered in a voice quiet enough not to disturb the calm.

“The Fort.”

Groves leaned out his window and knocked the side of the coach. “Fort Charles.”

The carriage lurched into motion and Norrington sightlessly watched the scenery pass by. “I don’t know if you care to come with me,” he told them, “but I’m sure your input would be invaluable.”

“We’d be glad to attend you, sir,” Groves assured him.

= = = = =

They walked the ramparts, pulling their hats low on their heads to combat the wind that blew off the ocean. The seas were frothing, but not dangerous, and they spent some minutes watching the merchant ships at work. They inspected the guns for signs of wear and greeted the skeleton of men distributed throughout the halls and upon the crenellated towers. The redcoats worked short shifts on Christmas, and all would get a chance to spend time with friends or family on Christmas day. Still, for all the spirit that infused them, none shirked their duties. All the men they encountered were sober and alert, eager to wish a nervous Happy Christmas to the Commodore, whose respect and admiration they worked so hard to obtain.

As usual, there was nothing out of place, nothing detrimental to the running of the Fort, but there was always work to do, and Norrington busied himself for an hour in his office, accomplishing a good deal with the aid of his eager helpers.

A bell tolled in the Fort, and Gillette was eager to pipe up with, “The party starts in two hours, Commodore.”

“Don’t remind me,” he muttered, pushing aside the last bit of parchment. “I bloody well wish I didn’t have to bloody well go.”

Theodore and Andrew exchanged looks at what – for James Norrington – was an outright temper tantrum.

“We don’t have to stay long,” Groves suggested. “Just put in an appearance, say a few hellos, drink a glass of champagne and retreat. No one will even notice.”

“Oh? Are you to hold my hand all the way through the ball as well? Don’t think I haven’t noticed what you’ve been doing.”

Nervous hearts fluttered at the accusation.

“And what have we been doing?” Andrew asked.

“I don’t need looking after,” Norrington said, standing from his chair, radiating the authority he seemed to have been born with, like all good officers.

“You do,” Andrew said. Calmly. With his own understated authority. For the first time, he refused his commanding officer outright. “You need friends, I think. And we like you. Theodore and I. And we worry about you, tucked up alone in your little house with no one to cheer you.”

Norrington’s face darkened, like clouds scudding over the sun. “So you pity me.”

“No,” Gillette insisted. He knew the words that wanted to follow this denial were inappropriate, and that no one in the room was ready to hear them, even if they longed to be said. Instead, he declared, “I said you need friends. That was incorrect. I meant to say we already are your friends, James Norrington, and this is what friends do. Come on, Theodore.” His last address to Norrington was, “We’ll pick you up in an hour and one half.”

Norrington watched them darken his door and disappear into the gray of the Fort beyond.

= = = = =

Back in their shared dorm room, Andrew and Theodore freshened themselves by stripping to the waist and wiping away the sweat of the day. They changed into fresh shirts, had their wigs powdered by one of the servants, and were nervous the whole time.

“We can’t do this,” Andrew finally muttered, despite his earlier bravery. “It’s too soon. I know you want to crack open that exterior, Teddy, but we can’t break him.”

“You think we’ll break him?” Theodore asked. “He’s not so weak as all that. He might toss us out on our ears tonight, but he won’t string us up. And if he lets us into his bed, I don’t think he’ll be stupid enough to regret it in the morning.”

“Do you love him?” Andrew asked then, outright, not holding anything back as his bright auburn hair curled haphazardly over his brow, dark brown eyes hard and shining in the lamplight, mouth tight and nervous.

Theodore regarded him carefully, evaluating. “Do I love James Norrington?” he asked, casually tucking in his white silk shirt and eyeing the flickering shadows cast on the ceiling. He laughed, not harshly but with self-deprecation and resignation. “I suppose I do,” he admitted. “Just as much as I love you, Andrew. Do you think that’s possible? To have enough love for two people?”

“I should imagine it is, _oui_ ,” Gillette said softly, “for I feel the same.”

“I thought as much,” Groves said. He smiled and went on, “I thought you might betray us too early, there at the Fort.”

Gillette finally laughed and said, _“Moi, aussi.”_


	3. Three

At home, Norrington disappeared directly into his room for some peace and quiet, only to find the basket of oranges still gracing his table. He swore foully and tossed aside his coat to lay back on his bed with his eyes closed. “I haven’t been so tired in ages.” It wasn’t like Commodore Norrington to speak when there was no one to hear him, but those two were more than enough to drive a man to distraction.

A knock upon the door roused Norrington to drag himself to a sitting position. “Come.”

Nelson tottered in with his little steps. “There are a goodly number of gifts stacked upon the kitchen table; they’ve been coming in all day. I’m sure you’ll sort through them at your leisure. As for your own, they were all sent out this morning without difficulty, sir.”

Norrington stared at his mirror and said nothing.

“Do you require assistance, sir?”

He sighed and said, “Ah, see to the wig, won’t you? And brush down my coat. I’ll get myself a shirt… are the lads still about?”

“Aye, you told them to help themselves to what’s in the garden, and believe me, they are.”

“Good,” Norrington said absentmindedly. “And the contributions—”

“To the church, and every other organization you like to waste your money on, yes sir, all seen to, sir, as you stated. Why you demand anonymity for generosity I’m sure I don’t know.”

“Just see to the wig, Nelson. Oh, and hand out the oranges to the boys, and Mary, and yourself.”

Nelson took out two oranges and left them on the dressing table before he departed. “I’ll see to that at once, as the boys are like to take off in a moment. You keep those, sir; they’re yours, and good for you.”

The door clicked shut, the room was quiet, and Norrington looked at the two oranges, the only spot of brightness in the white room. He retrieved the fruit he’d carried in his pocket all day and put it with its mates upon the table. Then he shook off his melancholy and set about his ablutions.

= = = = =

“You’re to take off as soon as I’m gone,” he instructed his man. “No lounging about with your work as I’m apt to, but straight home to your sister’s. Take that bottle of wine.”

“Sir, I—”

“Take it. And I don’t want to see you tomorrow until noon at least.” A small smile cracked upon his austere features. “I know your sister’s cooking; if you can digest it in under twelve hours it will be a miracle. Have a Happy Christmas, Nelson.”

“And yourself, sir. A very happy one.”

Norrington descended the steps of the townhouse to where two blue-clad officers awaited him. He sighed deeply. “I see I’m not free of you, yet.”

“The night is young,” Groves said. “It’s not even dark yet, and we have plenty of time to get you drunk.”

Scandalized at the intention, Norrington’s nostrils flared and his eyes bulged.

Before he could get going, Gillette began his assault as well, slinging a familiar arm around his commander’s shoulders. “Aye, it’s not truly a holiday unless you get well and truly smashed. Come along James!”

“Gentlemen, I must protest—”

Groves whistled down the open-air gig they’d ordered and the two men unceremoniously shoved Norrington up into the seat. “Come on, there! Budge up!”

“Let’s go!” 

“Let’s sing!”

“Yes, let’s; sing with us James! ‘God rest ye merry gentlemen…’”

= = = = =

They were among the first to arrive at the Governor’s mansion, descending the gig in a wash of amazement. The front drive was lined with candles in white paper lanterns, and a troop of young carolers arrayed in red robes clustered near the steps, singing to the direction of a wizened old man waving a wooden baton irritably at them.

The three Navy men ascended the stone steps to the tiled entry room where a table of hors d'oeuvres was arrayed upon a tiered silver platform in bright lines of color. The chandelier was lit with a plethora of white beeswax candles, and flowers and crepe paper had overtaken the room. The men were offered champagne from a tray held by a white-wigged servant. As soon as the glasses were in hand they drank, and felt better straight away.

It did not take long for Governor Swann to find them and wish them all the best for the holidays along with an imploration that they enjoy themselves to the fullest.

“Commodore, I thank you heartily for the case of cabernet; I assure you it will be put to good use; I may have to open a bottle or two tonight.”

Norrington took the gratitude in stride, thanking the Governor in turn for his gift, and when all the bowings and scrapings were done, Gillette made himself heard. “May I ask, Governor Swann,” he spoke up without restraint, “has a kissing ball been prepared for the evening?”

“Ah yes!” he said. “I’m only waiting for the arrival of my daughter, for I know she’ll be charmed by the thing. Not to mention a few more bodies to fill the place up. And Lieutenant Gillette, I was wondering if you’d mind terribly giving a little speech about the pomander, only you know so much about it.”

“I’d hate to step on any toes…”

“Not at all; would you?”

“I’d be delighted, Governor. What an honor!”

“It will hardly be a hardship for him,” Groves said with a grin. “Gillette loves to blow his own horn, don’t you, old boy?”

“Gentlemen,” Norrington warned.

“Splendid, splendid,” Swann went on. “Oh! Do go right out to the yard as soon as you’ve a chance; it’s an absolute marvel what they’ve been able to do with it.” With a nod, he sent the three young men on their way, glad to see the Commodore finally engaging himself with his peers in a friendly manner.

The yard turned out to be a wonder, with white and silver decorations filling the place from end to end. Tables overflowed with white lace, glass baubles dripped from the trees, and candles paraded up and down the footpaths that meandered the blooming gardens. The men strolled amiably, sipping the bubbling French champagne, listening to the band pluck out a merry tune.

“You’re a shameless know-it-all, aren’t you, Gillette?” Norrington asked, breaking the silence.

“Oh yes,” he readily agreed. “In all things; you should know that by now.”

“Yes, I suppose I should.”

Groves grinned to see the little smile that tipped the corners of Norrington’s mouth. “And you, Groves?”

“Sir?”

“How do you put up with him?”

They both laughed at this and Theodore confessed, “He’s an awful good sport, when it comes right down to it, and easier to embarrass than you might at first think.”

Norrington nodded acknowledgment of the easygoing ribbing but his amusement faded as the crowd began to expand from the doors that opened out to the lawn and into the gardens. “And so it begins. Gentlemen? If you’ll excuse me?”

The Commodore left then, politely accosting all his acquaintance that quickly filled the place with their shining dresses and flashing uniforms and forced laughter.

Groves and Gillette were content to keep to themselves and speak here and there with those colleagues whose company they were familiar with until a servant begged Mister Gillette to please report to the main hall.

Inside the mansion people gathered round, Elizabeth with her husband and father, Groves with Norrington in a blue cluster of other officers. A tinkling bell was rung as the Governor ascended a few steps of the staircase to better gain the attention of the crowd. “Yes, thank you so much for coming…” was all he had to say before the people were applauding in thanks for such a marvelous celebration. “Yes, yes,” he tried to wave the applause down, “and a very Happy Christmas to all of you. But now, I’d like to introduce to you a new tradition and a young Lieutenant. Mister Gillette, if you would?”

Gillette scampered up the steps to replace the Governor in front of the assemblage. He held up a clove-embedded orange for the populace to see. “Good evening ladies and gentlemen. I wonder if any of you are familiar with the American practice of the Christmas kissing ball?”

A few rowdy men shouted out that they weren’t but that they should very much like to be. Gillette laughed and went on, “I hope you’ll indulge me by listening to a little poem about this pomander.”

People kindly clinked their glasses in approval and Gillette cleared his throat. When silence fell, he recited:

“A merry Yule and Happy Christmas  
To all assembled here;  
I wish to you the very best  
Throughout the coming year.

“Today we’ll pass the pomander  
To gather a hundred kisses;   
So look out for the orange,   
All you misters and you misses!

“When you give the kissing ball,  
You collect a single kiss;  
Then you also eat a single clove  
To memorize the bliss.

“When ninety-nine cloves are gone  
And only one remains  
That one is sure to give a wish;  
Good luck, you daring swains!

“And so I’ll pass the kissing ball  
And hope you all have fun;  
Give a kiss and take a clove  
And then the thing is done!”

He bowed to much applause and cheers of praise. “Who shall start?” he asked.

The Governor answered, “You should, Lieutenant Gillette; it was your idea, after all!”

Cheers flew about in agreement and Gillette’s cheeks grew pink as he descended into the crowd. His friends and comrades clapped his back in commendation of his idea and told him to get on with it already so they could all get a kiss before the cloves were gone.

With only a bit of stuttering, Gillette asked Mrs. Turner if she would terribly mind the imposition, but Elizabeth was more than amenable and offered her cheek without hesitation. Gillette brushed the barest of kisses on the pure face, clear of powder or rouge but naturally flushed and gay. He pressed the pomander into her hand as he did and withdrew with a single clove pinched between his finger and thumb. “I thank you most sincerely, Mrs. Turner, and a Happy Christmas to you.”

“A very Merry Christmas to you, Mr. Gillette. And this is such a wonderful design; you’ve no idea how captivated the ladies are at the suggestion. Now where’s Will gone? Will! Come kiss me!”

Everyone laughed at her enthusiasm and William Turner quickly found his wife, to alleviate what mortification he could. She eagerly embraced and kissed him, passing over the orange and taking a clove as she did. “I do love you.”

“I love you, Elizabeth.”

Groves and Gillette watched with a melancholy echoed in Norrington’s expression as he hid in what shadows could be found in the brightly lit mansion.

= = = = =

Somewhere between his fourth glass of champagne and passing the kissing ball to an ancient Mrs. Lentfer with a giggle, Groves lost track of his Commodore. “Gillette,” he said with a tap to the blue-brocaded shoulder. “Have you seen Norrington?”

“What? I thought it was your turn to watch him…”

“Very funny, a real riot. No, I can’t find the blackguard.”

“Well he can’t have gone far,” Gillette reasoned. “He’s not given his toast yet.”

The tune from the band in the little half-balcony ceased and another was struck up.

“Oh!” Gillette declared, “I’ve promised my cousin a dance; find me after!” And he was off like a shot through the crowd to find the hand of Miss Stanley, a comely young lady with auburn curls much like his own. She was a whole head shorter than Andrew Gillette, but they still made a fine couple, walking the dance up and down the ballroom floor. Groves watched with delight as his friend made the circuit, obviously enjoying himself.

“Mister Groves.”

“Ah, Mrs. Turner! A fine ball, is’t not?”

“Lovely, as usual. My father spares no expense you know… I think he always wanted more children, but in the end he was only stuck with me, and I know I’m far from the ideal daughter. But now, all the young men and women of Port Royal are his children.”

“Don’t be silly,” Theodore said, “you’re a wonderful daughter, and your father knows it. After all, you aren’t cruel, you aren’t shallow as so many young women nowadays. Why, you and Mr. Turner are thought of as the crème de la crème in Port Royal. Young, happy, in love… You’re very lucky, I think.”

“Yes, I know,” she said at once, far from ignorant to how she stood in the world and how blessed she was. “But I always shall regret my abhorrent actions to your friend. James was always too good for me.”

“I think, that is, if I may be bold, Mrs. Turner? I think all turned out for the best. You and your husband couldn’t be happier. And James, well, there’s a great deal he’s missed out on in the world. Andrew and I are trying to… rectify those oversights. He’s too lonely you know, but we’ll soon fix that.”

“I am glad to hear it. He’s so deserving of friends, and it’s seemed for so long he hasn’t any.”

“But you’re a friend to him,” Groves suggested.

Elizabeth paled. Her feelings had always been so readily readable; she couldn’t hide a thing with her face. “Our friendship will never be what it could have been. I think as the years elapse, we shall grow more comfortable together, but we shall never be truly close after what’s passed between us.”

“That’s a shame.”

“Yes, it is. Now,” she brightened, “it’s up to you and Mr. Gillette.”

“I feel you must be right. Now tell me, are you engaged? Or shall I have the pleasure of the next dance, Mrs. Turner?”

“I’d be delighted,” she declared, and she truly was.

= = = = =

In an alcove off the main hall, Groves and Gillette slouched together. Theodore touched his glass to Andrew’s. “You rogue,” he declared.

“What?”

“That poem,” Theodore said, sipping from his glass. “You made it up didn’t you? On the spot, even.”

Andrew blushed. “I gave it some thought beforehand.”

“Mm-hmm. You’ve quite a head for languages, I think.”

“It helps to speak four of them.”

Groves laughed and gently kicked him.

Again the tinkling bell caught the attention of those within the house and faces turned to the stairway where an unfortunately sober Commodore Norrington stood with glass in hand. “Ladies. Gentleman. I propose a Christmas toast.”

“Here, here!” voices answered him. Glasses were found and lifted to the air, shimmering champagne gold, sherry red, and brandy yellow in the candlelight.

“Governor Swann, you’ve my deepest thanks and heartfelt congratulations for such a superior celebration on this excellent Christmas day.”

More cheers answered this, and Norrington decided that if he had to endure such ovations after every sentence, he would quickly cut the speech short.

“Port Royal could not hope for a finer host, a grander venue, or a pleasanter evening. Cheers to you, Governor, to your family, and to each and every one of you tonight. A very Happy Christmas to you all.”

People cheered and applauded and drank away their troubles to the Christmas night.

Norrington braced himself to face the throng again as he said his goodbyes. He shook hands with the Governor and William Turner and half his captains. He escaped the ladies and he found at last the two conspirators to bid them good eve.

Gillette and Groves walked him down the gravel lane where a good many carriages were waiting. “Do you two rascals need a lift to the Fort?”

“Oh no,” Andrew assured him. “No worries about us, now. You get yourself safely home and have a good sleep.”

“And a good Christmas to you, Commodore,” Groves added as Norrington disappeared with a sigh into the dark of a small coach.

They stood and watched it jitter away over the cobbles and waited only as long as they could stand it before hiring one of their own.

= = = = =

Norrington let himself into the house by way of the back door to the kitchen, which was chill and dark in the late evening. He locked the place up tight behind him and moved sluggishly through the house that – after a night at the Governor’s ball – loomed close and quiet over him like a bad dream. He tried to convince himself that this was the sort of peace he longed for, but after the day he’d had, it seemed only sad and empty.

He slogged up the stairs to his study, where he abandoned hat, coat, and sword before lighting a single lamp to set upon his desk. Flipping out the tails of his waistcoat, Norrington sat and pulled forward the white papers crawling with black ink to study, to sign, to think, and to distract himself again from the things that really mattered.

He anticipated another night of working until he was too tired to do anything but sleep, knowing that no matter how fatigued he made himself, he would never be too tired to forget.

But as the clock on his dark mantel chimed midnight, echoing the bells that rang out from the Fort, he looked up from his work, squinting into the dark of the room, thinking he’d heard something out of place in the empty townhouse.

He soon attributed it to his imagination and bowed his head again to the desk.

But yet another sound, not quite identifiable, almost not even audible, caught his attention, and he peered into the darkness, searching fervently with his eyes as though they could aid his ears.

There.

Footsteps.

Norrington stood, sliding silently out from behind his chair, drawing the sword from its scabbard where it stood beside a shelf. One hand held the weapon tight, the other clasped the door handle, and he stopped his breath to listen to the crack at the door.

“Shh!”

“He’s no doubt heard us already, Andrew; don’t make such a fuss.”

Norrington gave a deep sigh of frustration and flung open the door. “Is my home to be invaded every hour by the pair of you?” he shouted, angry.

The sword was lowered, but Andrew and Theodore couldn’t help but think he still looked remarkably menacing, wig and all.

“Working late?” Groves asked, failing to appear nonchalant. With greater confidence than he felt, he lifted the sword from Norrington’s hand like a master pickpocket and drove the man back into his study. “Go on; we’ll not stop you. I don’t doubt you shouldn’t be on your feet after the week you’ve had… working all hours, going to parties…”

Norrington decided to just throw up his hands. “I honestly don’t know what to do with you,” he said, resuming his seat, determined to ignore them until they went away, though he doubted the tactic would work with two so persistent.

So it was a minute before he realized the men were making themselves quite at home. Groves was examining the sword, waving it about this way and that while Gillette distractedly removed his hat, coat, and waistcoat, throwing them to an empty chair as he examined the books that filled Norrington’s shelves.

By the time Norrington thought to spare a glance for his unwelcome visitors, both were stripped to their shirtsleeves. One perched upon the corner of his desk while the other lounged in a free chair. Both examined their unwilling host with bright eyes. “You’re drunk,” Norrington decided.

“No,” Groves, who leaned on the desk, denied. “Not quite.” He offered a friendly smile and stood, idly roaming the room. “Andrew and I have been worried about you.”

Norrington’s eyes – suddenly wary – flicked to Gillette, who slowly gained his feet and began circling round to one side as Groves approached on the other.

“James,” Groves said, easing himself behind the desk to look down at Norrington, who abruptly pushed back the chair, letting it scrape across the floor as he stood. “It’s all right,” Theodore said, raising his hands in a gesture of peace.

Gillette turned the chair perpendicular to the desk, and gently – so gently – tugged Norrington’s waistcoat as Groves moved further in and the man had little choice but to sit. From behind, Andrew’s strong hands alighted upon Norrington’s shoulders with no more weight or presence than small birds while Groves slowly crouched, bringing him eye to eye with his prey.

When he spoke again, Theodore’s voice was small, soft, and deep. “We’ve been minding you a while now, James Norrington.”

James shivered violently as the hands on his shoulders moved, one inching in to rub a thumb along the tense muscles of his neck, the other gently swiping the line of his jaw.

Terrified green eyes caught friendly blue.

Theodore set his hands upon either knee and shook his head. “Don’t be afraid,” he entreated. Then Groves leaned in and touched warm lips to thin, parted ones. He drew back and smiled. “Dearest James,” he whispered reverently, “you have ever been hard on your lessers, but harder on yourself. Andrew and I have watched you grow more stolid and removed by the day. You’re exhausted, poor James. Now…” he said, and his eyes lifted momentarily to his partner-in-crime, who had yet to cease his gentle fondling; a cunning finger traced the whorls of Norrington’s ear as the thumb pressed the long-hoarded ache from his neck. Groves continued, “You have two choices. One, you can tell us…” and he caressed the pouting lips before him with fluttering fingers, “to stop, or…” he leaned in to brush his own lips against a flushing cheek, “you don’t have to tell us anything.” And he slipped with skilled precision the white silk cravat from its noose-like hold.

James trembled and could say nothing while the man behind him dropped to his knees and snaked one strong arm like a boa constrictor about Norrington’s shoulders. Gillette bowed his head to press his lips to the bared throat. _“Pauvre Jamie,”_ came a voice quavering with unidentifiable emotion, _“Mon chér, nous t’aimons, tu sais.”_

Norrington tried to decipher the French, but his brain was too muddled, and he just barely realized that Andrew was too fearful to speak in words that would be understood. Then the endearment registered and no matter how he tried to stop his own breath, he couldn’t hold back the moan. He hadn’t felt so alive in ages and he closed his eyes to the realness of it all.

“Stand up, James,” Theodore beckoned, gently taking Norrington’s hands and lifting him from his seat like a marionette. Groves neatly undid his gold belt with a flourish that was somehow full of innuendo. His long waistcoat was slipped from him like skin peeled from a fruit and he was turned in place. He watched Gillette hang the waistcoat on the back of the chair and then stared in fright as the man stepped in around the chair, dark eyes begging for something Norrington couldn’t interpret. Andrew stepped in so close their bodies stood flush and with feather-light touches the lieutenant kissed his jaw, his chin, his cheek.

And James kissed back, catching a temple just under the white wig, pressing his lips there like a brand. Gillette gasped and pulled back, watching with wide, dark eyes. Then his clever fingers found the buttons of white breeches as Groves eased the shirt from the waistband all the while pressing his hands to back and sides and arms and belly and hips, petting, squeezing, rubbing.

Gillette tried a smile as he deftly pulled away Norrington’s wig and then his own. Brown hair and red hair fell from their pomaded places, curling impishly over sweat-sheened brows. Gillette tossed the lifeless wigs to the desk and lightly threaded his fingers through long strands of brown, sliding the pins out to drop in little pings to the wood floor. _“Très joli,”_ he murmured, then took Norrington’s hand to lead him to the sliding doors that connected study to bedroom. _“Allons-y…”_ he begged in the low, shadowy voice.

Silently, Norrington balked, but after Gillette slid the doors apart, Groves herded him inside, and then there were too many hands and not enough light, and his skin burned all over like ice.

Moonlight from the always-uncovered window was all to light the way as Norrington was turned this way and that, manipulated as easily as a toy between them until the cool sheets were at his back and there was nothing between skin and skin. Blood rose quickly to flush pale bodies red and pink, highlighting freckles, scars, and all manner of lovely defects.

James shivered and shuddered; his vision blurred. He felt drunk, but the hands that touched him were too real to be denied, to be explained away by dreams or drink. Lips touched his cheek and he turned to focus on Theodore, his face angular and happy, the bones beneath his skin harshly defined by the moonlight.

A tentative hand caressed Norrington’s jaw, persuading him to turn to find Andrew staring with fear and hope shining from too dark eyes. James thought for a moment he’d never seen eyes so dark. Andrew’s plain features were beautiful to him in that moment, when it had been so long since he’d found beauty in much of anything. He kissed the man without thought.

He returned the touches from the men that cradled him like parentheses.

With disbelief that swiftly turned to delight, he watched his own hands explore willing flesh, fingertips tickling heaving bellies, palms skimming sweating flanks, wrists pulsing against pulsing wrists.

Words caressed him like hands.

“You’re wonderful…”

 _“Je t’aime,_ Jamie _joli…”_

“Just let us do this…”

 _“Nous voulons faire ce, mon chéri…”_

Norrington didn’t know when he’d become aroused, but he was suddenly aware of it, how his body thrummed with want and his cock filled with blood, hard and heavy. And the men whose limbs entwined his own were hot with it, too; they moved with restless desire and pressed closer, sandwiching an unresisting commodore between them.

James hardly knew which way was up when Theodore slipped something into his hand. He looked curiously at the little glass vial. “It’s up to you,” Groves whispered in his ear. “What do you want?”

Fumbling fingers unstoppered the cork, and thick, viscous fluid dribbled onto his fingers. It shimmered clear and slick in the light and he thoughtlessly moved his hand to grasp his own straining length, indulging in the familiar feel of it before another hand took over the task, leaving James’s hands free to explore less familiar but astoundingly curious terrain, leaving trails of oil like snail paths over whatever he touched. He took into his hands one hard organ after another, reveling at the sounds drawn from clenched throats. But he had not courage enough to demand anything more of his very willing lovers.

So, Theodore took over the oil, slicking his fingers quickly as he kneeled up and persuaded Andrew to lie on his stomach. Expert fingers sought his center with slow and careful preparation.

 _“Maudit!”_ Andrew hissed, squirming under the loving assault. He huffed his heavy breath between James’s quick kisses. _“Viens m'encule,”_ he promised, caressing the wondering face.

Theodore convinced James to take over the task, and hesitant fingers slithered up the tight space, as Groves urged him on. “That’s right. Nice and slow… rotate them like a corkscrew. Can you fit another? Open him up, he’s going to take you inside him.”

French curses fell to the pillow until Theodore maneuvered the two men into position as though they were puppets at his command so that Andrew lay on his back and James lay above, between spread legs. So close, they could do little but kiss and move together like animals.

Theodore oiled his hand again and James did not protest when the questing fingers found him next and began their sordid work.

Andrew spread his legs even further to accommodate the goings on and begged incomprehensibly for something he would never have considered two days before. _“Tu me rend fou! Non, mais baise moi, s’il vous plait…”_

Awed, James reached down to position himself. “Are you sure?” His voice was pained and tense.

 _“Se passer,”_ Andrew nodded.

Slowly, wondering all the while at his good fortune, James breached the willing body.

 _“Pour l’amour de Dieu!”_

Wasting no time, Groves sheathed himself as well so that James surged between them, burying himself in Andrew’s tight heat, rearing back to spear himself on Theodore’s eager prick.

All three quickly lost themselves to the rhythmic ecstasy of it, pounding together and breaking apart like waves.

Gillette was lost to frenzy, shaking his head and crooning as the pleasure coursed roughly through him and he clutched James in a bruising grip.

Theodore grinned through his pleasure, revering the skin under adoring hands as he pumped and groaned.

Caught between them, James finally gave himself up to the rioting bliss. He abandoned thought in favor of touch and undulate and fuck and take and love.

When he came, he howled.

He collapsed and tears fell as everything washed over him in overwhelming devastation.

Gentle hands rolled him to the now cool sheets on the other side of the bed. Eyes, pale and dark, watched him. Norrington clutched Andrew’s hand as a lifeline, showed a smile to prove his courage, and said, “Go on.”

They smiled and Theodore sunk into the opened passage with ease, taking Andrew hard and fast until they both spent themselves in grunts and whispered oaths. Andrew gripped Norrington’s hand like a vice.

They all lay still and sought to catch their breath before Theodore slipped away like a ghost. With a wet cloth, he wiped them down like exhausted horses and then crawled over both to place Norrington again in the middle as he drew up the sheets.

 _“Merci,_ Teddy. _Tu toujours ai le idée meilleurs …”_

“Theo,” James wondered, “why does he do that?”

Theodore drew James close and reached over to rest a hand somewhere on Andrew under the blankets. “Andrew’s father married a Frenchwoman, and she brought her own servants with her back to Britain. Andrew’s nursemaid and manservant spoke very little English. Our golden boy of the Navy here didn’t even speak English until he was seven and his father realized what was happening.”

“His father didn’t figure out his son was only speaking French until he was seven?”

“Lord Gillette was a busy man,” Teddy said, knowing the story by heart. “At any rate, Andrew’s nursemaid was sent away, but he always practiced his French, speaking to his mother in her own language when none other was present, and there were always French-speaking servants in the house. And now, times like this,” he laughed, low and deep, “our Andrew here takes refuge where he is safe. He is free to speak his mind, even knowing he will not be understood. I usually don’t have the faintest idea what he’s talking about when he does it.”

James perked up and looked to Gillette as he said, “I speak quite good French, actually, when my brain’s not addled, that is. As for you, Andrew, _je t’aime, aussi._ ” He reached out to ruffle auburn hair.

Dark eyes were wide with shock, but pleased.

“Are you going to let me in on the secret?” Teddy asked, feigning indignant offense.

James rolled his eyes. “Kiss me.”

“Not a hardship, to be sure,” Teddy said, obeying. “But why?”

“We love you.”

“Oh. Is that what you’ve been saying all these months?” he asked, looking over at his fellow conspirator.

Freckled skin blushed in the night, and all three of them laughed, quiet and happy.

Teddy pet James like a cat and remarked, “If you don’t stop smiling, you’re going to sprain something…”

James popped him one on the shoulder, earning a displeased grunt. “Can I help it if you seduced me?”

 _“Non.”_

“Oh, take his side,” Theodore grumped. Then he sighed and lay still, fatigue overtaking everything else.

Andrew also shut his eyes to the moonlit night and snuggled in close.

Between them, James regarded the shadows in his room and the bright oranges on his table. He shifted like a dog unhappy with its position and sighed.

“Andrew,” Groves murmured, his warm breath gusting over Norrington’s ear. “Our friend cannot sleep. How about a lullaby?”

Until that moment, Norrington had never known man nor beast that could whisper a song, but Gillette did it, his fine voice a low and hushing calm, whisper-singing foreign words to a familiar tune.

Ah! vous dirai-je, maman,  
Ce qui cause mon tourment?  
Depuis que j’ai vu Silvandre  
Me regarder d’un air tendre,  
Mon coeur dit à tout moment:  
Peut-on vivre sans amant?

“ _S’endorm,_ ” Andrew entreated with a kiss to Norrington’s head. _“Toi aussi,_ Teddy. _S’endorm.”_

Theodore smiled into the crook of Norrington’s neck and told him, “That means go to sleep, James.”

= = = = =

On the twenty-sixth of December, bright sunlight chased Norrington from his sleep. He opened green eyes to sight of the white room lit bright in the early morning. He turned his head to the sight of Theodore Groves on one side, burrowing his face under Norrington’s arm. He turned to the other side to see that Andrew Gillette had drawn a pillow over his head.

The lieutenants breathed slow and even in their sleep, and they were warm like huge dogs to either side of him. James smiled at the morning and couldn’t recall ever feeling so content.

“You’re awake,” someone mumbled.

“Andrew?” James asked. “Is that you?”

The pillow was slid aside, revealing auburn hair that the sun burnished into wires of gold and copper. “Yes.”

“Good morning.”

Gillette tried a trembling smile. “Is it?”

“I think so, _chéri_.”

Andrew’s smile smoothed to something more sincere. “Teddy was right.”

“Oh?” James asked, turning to glance at Groves still sleeping beside him. “About what?”

“He promised me that if you let us in your bed, you wouldn’t be stupid enough to throw us out in the morning.”

James snorted. “He could have put it more delicately, but… he was right.” He reached out to run his hand through that bright red hair. “Come here, Andrew,” he whispered, drawing him in for a kiss. “For all your bluff and bluster, you’re just a wee mouse, aren’t you?”

“I’m not a mouse,” he pouted, which warranted another kiss.

“Oi,” came another voice. “You’re leaving me out.”

“Only because you were sleeping,” Andrew said.

“Oh…” Groves lifted his head and thought about that for a minute. “Aye, I suppose you’ve a point there.”

“Well,” Norrington said, rolling over to kiss Theodore’s temple. “I thank you both for this… whatever it was. And now, it’s time for me to get up.”

He crawled over Gillette before protests could form. “Here, eat something.” Norrington threw an orange at each of them before he opened a door just as white as the wall to reveal a closet. He dressed himself with ease and speed as the men in the bed sat up to complain.

“You can’t leave yet…”

“It’s not even six o’clock…”

“I have duties to attend, gentlemen,” Norrington said, finding shoes that had been kicked under a table. “And you cannot be in my bed when the servants arrive.” He stood and smiled down at them. “Though you’re welcome to return to it, anytime it’s safe to do so.”

With that, Theodore and Andrew were content to watch in silence as James assembled himself, straggling into the study to recover the rest of his articles. Momentarily, he returned to the bedroom, a fine and presentable Commodore in His Majesty’s Royal Navy once again.

“Do you mean it?” Andrew asked.

“Of course,” James said, showing that small smile so rarely given to anyone. “Now get out. The maid will be here in thirty minutes.”

The lieutenants laughed and obeyed, grabbing up their clothes, stealing quick kisses, and sneaking out the way they’d come.

= = = = =

Five Years Later

= = = = =

The Christmas bells rang through Port Royal and James Norrington looked up to the bright stars of the cloudless night with a thoughtful smile.

“Merry Christmas, Admiral!”

Norrington turned and bowed to the sailors who caroled up and down the street across the way. “Happy Christmas!” he shouted back. He proceeded then with a quicker pace up the nearby steps to his townhouse. He unlocked the door and slipped within.

The place was dark and cool and he shed his clothes without thought. Shoes landed on the mat, the hat on a chair. The wig sat atop the post of the banister and the coat landed on the steps.

When he reached the upper hallway, he was unsurprised to see candlelight escaping the crack under his bedroom door. He dropped his waistcoat to the floor without a thought and opened the door to the white, barren room. Two men slept in his bed, drowsing with a corked bottle cradled between them.

Norrington quirked a smile and dropped his sword and belt on the dressing table with a clank loud enough to wake the dead.

The men snorted and sat up, bleary-eyed.

“You’re home,” Theodore cleverly observed, rolling out of bed onto his feet. He stood naked in the yellow light of the few candles scattered through the room and Andrew sat up for a better view.

“As you see,” James agreed, and let Teddy help him disrobe. “ _Bon soir_ , Andrew.”

“ _Bonsoir_ , Jamie.”

When he was naked, he stood unashamed in the light, glancing to be sure the curtains were closed. “I have something for you both.”

 _“Qu’est-ce que c’est?”_

James pulled a basket of oranges from the closet and set it upon the table beside his sword. “But maybe we’ll save them for later, yes?”

His lovers readily agreed and pulled him into the bed with strong arms and quick hands.

Soon all three of them were wrapped together under the sheets, and Norrington said, “I think you’ve changed my mind about Christmas.”

“But not about parties?”

“No Teddy, not about parties.”

“But you don’t hate Christmas anymore?”

“No, indeed.” He kissed both of them and said, “I find it now to be a favored holiday, in fact. So let us celebrate it, shall we?”

And they did.

= = = = =

The End


End file.
